


Give It Up

by EdgarAllenPoet



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Rough Sex, Roughhousing, Veterans, Wrestling, older paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 22:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13913604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: I’m all into one of the boys dominating the other, but they’re both trained combatants. I don’t want to see either of them be readily submissive. Give me cuddling turned into tickling turned into wrestling matches that throw them into walls and break tables and it’s only when one of them is pinned tight with both shoulders wrenched at an impossible angle that they’ll possibly submit to anything. Make it a game of “who’s gonna top tonight” cage fighting.





	Give It Up

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted through doubtfulbones tumblr. I sent in the original anon, and then I got carried away and wrote this. So here we are. 
> 
> The other projects are still in the works.

There’s a hole in the wall shaped like Keith’s fist, from that time when tempers were flying and deep breathing wasn’t enough to smother the risidual anxiety that hung around with bad memories. The restlessness they carried from their dangerous past lives and the fact that they couldn’t figure out how to live like civilians anymore. Panic attacks and temper tantrums and fists that were thrown but never at each other.

There was another hole from the time Lance picked Keith up by the hips and slammed him back, intending for it to be sexy and dominating but instead knocking his head into the wall and cracking the drywall.

Again.

Their home was full of Keith shaped holes, a joke Lance told while he checked the back of Keith’s head for damage. He got punched in the shoulder for that joke. It was worth it.

They were going to put another hole in the wall if they weren’t careful, but right now Lance couldn’t find it in him to care as he shoved a chair out of the way and scrambled over the kitchen table, away from his lover, who was brandishing a dish towel like a weapon and grinning like the devil.

Lance ran, and Keith caught up to him in the living room. He tried to grab Lance’s arm, and Lance used a move that was entirely muscle memory at this point, to throw himself into Keith’s momentum and send them both hurtling to the ground, Lance on top.

They rolled, there, grunting and struggling. It was a free for all when they were like this, the only established rules being “dont go for the eyes” and “no weapons,” even though they were both experienced enough by now to avoid injuries in a sparring match no matter what. They were too evenly matched. Too used to each other. But dirty tricks could push a person over the edge. They’d spent their youth in battle, had grown into men surrounded by violence. Like soldiers before them, there were things you didn’t talk about, didn’t do, things that didn’t need to be relived.

“Ow Ow Ow Ow!” Lance yelled, because this was a game and he didn’t have to remain stoic for Keith’s sake. “Watch it! I like my shoulders the way they are, thank you!”

“Can’t get out of it?” Keith asked, voice light and teasing, and it gave Lance just enough will power to bend one elbow, twist himself free, and throw Keith back to the ground with a shoulder to the gut.

“Ha!” He cheered, quickly grabbing Keith’s flying hands and pinning them to the small of his back. He secured them to the small of his back, ignoring Keith’s hiss of pain, and then yanked his pants down to the middle of his thighs.

“Hey!” Keith yelled, breaking into a quiet laugh. “We’re in the living room.”

“So observant, space ranger,” lance noted, slipping a finger between Keith’s cheeks and watching him squirm.

“Something wrong?” He teased, reveling in the seething glare Keith sent him over his shoulder.

“I’m chafing against the carpet,” he complained, and Lance decided that was a valid complaint. It took a bit more effort than he would have liked to heave Keith onto his feet and then over his shoulders. He needed to work out more, like he used to. He didn’t need the edge anymore, sure, but he liked the physique. He’d hit the gym in the evening.

Keith allowed himself to be carried into the bedroom, but the peace didn’t last long. As soon as they were in the proximity of their king sized mattress, Keith kicked and bucked, knocking them both over and sending them tumbling to the mattress, back at square one, lost in the heat of battle and the heat of each other.

This would end as it always did, with someone’s face shoved under a pillow and a dick in their ass, maybe with their arms and legs tied (because with their training, arms tied wasn’t enough anymore). They would fuck fast and hard and get off with choked gasps. You learn to be quiet when you lose your virginity on a space ship.

Then they’d curl up with each other in the after glow, cradling sore wrists and petting hips and nuzzling gently against bruises that they don’t regret, but are sorry they gave each other. They’ll press foreheads together, and Lance will try to flutter his eyelids against Keith’s cheek, and they’ll be happy, calm in a way that’s hard to achieve anymore.

Maybe they’d shaken the bed too much, knocked a post back and made another dent. But that was okay. They had both physical and mental scars, but they weren’t all bad. They were just tendencies. Just memories and habits. There wasn’t any fixing them.

Sometimes life puts holes in your walls. Sometimes you adapt to live with them.


End file.
